<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>97 by evengrable</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24437308">97</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/evengrable/pseuds/evengrable'>evengrable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>19 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Columbine - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1990s, Codependency, First Love, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:49:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24437308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/evengrable/pseuds/evengrable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Summer does suck,” Dylan agrees, sighing. He crosses his ankle over his knee, legs going everywhere in the tight space, and starts digging around in the console under Eric’s radio, poking his fingers around and jangling the loose coins and utility knife Eric keeps there. “Everything sucks.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>19 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>97</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In Eric’s basement, there’s an old couch, a TV, and an armchair.</p><p>The carpet on the floor is short and tight-knit; nothing more than an affordable, utilitarian option chosen by Eric’s parents to cover the unfinished cement floor. There’s a coffee table, and before Eric’s parents bought their new living room set, it used to house his mom’s stuff upstairs. Now it sits here.</p><p>Eric spends a lot of time in the basement. His bedroom door is right there.</p><p>And, this morning, he snags his wallet off the coffee table on his way through, boots thundering all the way up the stairs.</p><p>*</p><p>He rolls up outside of Dylan’s house with his windows down, and music loud.</p><p>It’s a nice day today. The sun is out, high and hot over the mountains. Eric tried to leave his house wearing a sweatshirt, but halfway between their houses, he had to pull it off at a red light. Now it’s balled up in the back seat.</p><p>Dylan lopes down the slab walkway, not looking at Eric until he gets to the door. Then he drops down, big stupid grin on his face, lanky arms everywhere.</p><p>“Tell me we’re doing something fun,” he says, opening the door from the inside. Eric smirks at him and revs the engine as Dylan swings the door open and flops into the passenger seat, one knee hitting the dash. “I can’t take this anymore.”</p><p>Eric catches his eye, voice flat. “Life is always fun with me.”</p><p>“Fun guy, fun guy,” Dylan continues, looking out the window instead of at him as Eric pulls away from the curb. Eric catches the way Dylan diligently waves to his mom, who followed him to the front door and is lingering in the open doorway.</p><p>Eric flips his sun visor down and clears his throat. “I don’t have any ideas. Summer sucks. I thought you had a plan.”</p><p>“Summer does suck,” Dylan agrees, sighing. He crosses his ankle over his knee, legs going everywhere in the tight space, and starts digging around in the console under Eric’s radio, poking his fingers around and jangling the loose coins and utility knife Eric keeps there. “Everything sucks.”</p><p>The open windows muffle out the silence, and the sound of air whipping past muzzles the need for further small talk. As Eric coasts down a hill, he glances over and sees Dylan flipping through the liner notes of a CD. Dylan’s knee touches the back of Eric’s hand where it sits on the gear shift.</p><p>“We could go to the mall,” Eric suggests, adjusting his grip.</p><p>Dylan flatly counters, “Fuck that,” without looking up from the little booklet.</p><p>“Pizza,” Eric says solemnly. He rolls to a stop at a stale red light, wraps his fingers around the bottom of the steering wheel, and tilts his chin up to look over at Dylan. He could be an annoying faggot sometimes, but that was part of his charm. “And.” Eric pauses to arch his eyebrow, selling it. “The beers I stole from my dad.”</p><p>A grin rips its way across Dylan’s face. He flips the next page of the liner notes dramatically, and agrees, “Now that sounds like fun.”</p><p>*</p><p>Eric parks outside Blackjack and lets his car idle as he ducks in and orders a large pizza for them to share.</p><p>“Girlfriend’s in a mood, huh?” one of their co-workers teases, nodding back over Eric’s shoulder, through the huge windows that face the parking lot.</p><p>Cash in hand to pay for his pizza with their employee discount, Eric half turns to follow his co-worker’s gaze. Sure enough, Dylan’s little rain cloud is visible from here, even to someone who barely knows him. He’s sitting quietly in the passenger seat and smoking a cigarette out the window, staring off into space.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Eric decides to counter with, as he hands his money over.</p><p>His coworker laughs, thinking no harm, no foul, and gets Eric his change. Everyone jokes about them like that. It makes Eric tense and angry inside.</p><p>Eric lurks around the pick-up counter for the five minutes it takes them to make he and Dylan’s pizza in the back. He can hear everyone joking around, the muffle of voices over the sound of oven doors opening, and the clatter of a busy kitchen. Eric stands by himself, and sneaks looks through the window when he can.</p><p>“New schedule is up,” Jason, their shift manager, announces. He comes out of the back looking at Eric and holding a pizza box. “You’re working Saturdays now.”</p><p>Eric accepts his order and nods. “Sure,” he agrees, easily enough.</p><p>He doesn’t really want to spend another day of the week flipping pizzas, but a little extra cash wouldn’t hurt right now.</p><p>“See you tomorrow,” he says as he leaves, kicking the door open to let himself out.</p><p>Dylan is exactly where Eric left him.</p><p>Eric shoves the pizza in through the passenger window, laughing when the box buckles and opens on one side, pissing Dylan off. He walks around the back of the car, still with a grin on his face, and drops back into the driver’s seat.</p><p>“Fuck you, man,” Dylan says, levering a slice out through the cracked open box. He sticks it in his mouth, gets at least half of it in there as Eric taps his cigarettes open and pulls a filter out with his teeth. They look at each other over the gear shift, and as Eric reaches for his lighter, Dylan asks, “You want one now?”</p><p>The cigarette is lit and Eric reverses to pull out of his spot.</p><p>“No,” he replies, gesturing to the back seat. “But you can get me a beer.”</p><p>*</p><p>The drive out to the reservoir puts Dylan in a better mood.</p><p>Eric plays a mixed CD he just burnt last night, smokes his cigarette in little puffs that leave his lips hot with nicotine, and eats the two pieces of pizza Dylan hands him. They share a warm can of beer and argue over L.A. Confidential.</p><p>“They found mutually beneficial reasons to work together,” Dylan says, adjusting his hat. “Based on their ideologies.”</p><p>Eric couldn’t disagree more. “First of all, it’s nothing but a shitty genre movie. And second of all, fuck all cops,” he dismisses. “Retarded.”</p><p>“You’re so annoying,” Dylan cackles, entertained by Eric’s contemptuous review. “It’s like, <i>known</i> to be a good movie. Like Gattaca.”</p><p>“What?!” Eric can’t believe what he’s hearing. The car swerves, and Dylan starts laughing when Eric dramatically peels off to the side of the road, dirt clouds kicking up as he spins his back wheels. “You are so gay,” he grimaces, reaching right across Dylan’s lap to open the door. “Get the fuck out!”</p><p>Dylan is laughing so much he can’t even argue back. He just knocks Eric’s hands away, and slides down in the seat when Eric starts digging around, trying to unbuckle his seatbelt and shove him out the door by the shoulder.</p><p>“Fuck science fiction,” Eric says succinctly. He cracks a smile when Dylan has to put one foot out of the car to steady himself. He gives Dylan’s shoulder one more shove. It’s exciting. Whenever Eric pushes, Dylan presses back twice as hard. Dylan’s bigger than him, Eric would have to put a lot into making it an equal fight -- and that’s part of the excitement. “God, you’re lame.”</p><p>Still laughing, Dylan fixes his hat. It got knocked back in the scuffle.</p><p>“Your mom,” Dylan counters.</p><p>He starts laughing again when Eric peels back onto the road with no warning, leaving Dylan to fight against gravity to get his foot back in the car and door closed.</p><p>*</p><p>Eric parks in the furthest boat ramp lot that hardly ever gets used.</p><p>Hiking up to the dam is a pain in the ass, but it’s worth it once they get to the top. They check for rattlesnakes and then sit with their backs against a fallen log, Eric’s bag between them. Eric’s rests his right boot toe against Dylan’s left.</p><p>“I’m sweating,” Dylan complains, accepting the beer Eric hands him from the bag.</p><p>Eric glances over at Dylan’s face without thinking. He does look a little hot, maybe sunburnt, but Eric likes that. He thinks about getting Dylan all fucked up and hot and sweaty.</p><p>Then he clears his throat and crosses one ankle over the other.</p><p>“Look at that dumbass,” he says, changing the subject. He points down to the public part of the lake, where there are people set up all along the water’s edge. Neon umbrellas and towels laying on the sand. “He looks like a girl.”</p><p>Dylan tries to figure out where Eric is pointing. “What, that guy?”</p><p>A skinny kid runs down the lake shore with his friends. He’s far enough away that Eric can’t make out his features, just his body type and the way he’s laughing as he runs. Eric hates it; the knobby way his shoulders turn into skinny arms and stick straight forearms with no hair.</p><p>Eric clears his throat and glances down at his wrist, held limply in his lap.</p><p>“Yeah, look at him.” Eric doubles down, repositioning his hands. He squeezes one into a fist and drinks his beer with the other. “All faggy and shit.”</p><p>Dylan watches for another minute and then agrees with an unenthusiastic, “Yeah.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Eric mimics, kicking Dylan’s boot roughly.</p><p>Dylan smiles and kicks back.</p><p>*</p><p>They stay up in the mountain for a couple hours.</p><p>All the beers are gone by the time the sun starts to set, glowing Halloween orange over the ridge of the red rocks. Eric stares into the setting sun with a frown on his face.</p><p>Sometimes he worries about himself. The things he thinks about aren’t right. All afternoon he’s been egging Dylan on, making fun of him and teasing him. He spends a lot of time in Dylan’s space, up close, and he toes at the boundaries as much as he can because Dylan never, ever pulls back.</p><p>When Eric goes toe to toe with Dylan, Dylan leans in. And one day Eric isn’t going to have it in him to step back.</p><p>“Get that can,” Eric directs, a little tipsy. They toss all their empties back into Eric’s duffle bag. He watches as Dylan squats behind the log they spent all afternoon on and stretches to dig the can out of the high grass.</p><p>Dylan tosses the empty through the air, and Eric moves, holding the open bag so it lands with the others.</p><p>“Kobe,” Dylan says, mimicking the way the guys in their gym class talk. Then he interrupts himself to let out a truly dramatic burp. It echoes through the deserted mountain side, and in the distance a dog starts barking.</p><p>Eric laughs and starts back towards the trail they came in on, letting the oversized bag bang against the side of his calf as he walks.</p><p>Halfway down the mountain, Dylan offers to carry it the rest of the way.</p><p>*</p><p>Eric writes about the day in his journal after he gets home from dropping Dylan off.</p><p>Lots of Eric’s friends are girls. He’s always had an easier time talking to chicks, even when he was a little kid in Wichita and Plattsburgh. Girls are just nicer. Eric has never been nervous to say “hi” or start a conversation with one, they aren’t like guys at all. </p><p>In eighth grade, a girl told him she liked him because he was nice to her. Eric doesn’t know about that - it’s not like it’s hard to have manners. Eric hates it when people act like animals, when they don’t say “please” and “thank you” and hold the door open if you’re right behind them. Those things are important to Eric, and sometimes the girls get confused about it. They think pulling out their chair or waiting for them in the hallway means something extra.</p><p>But Eric doesn’t mean it like that at all.</p><p>Dylan is different than the rest of the guys, and all of the girls Eric knows. He draws a rudimentary stick man in the margin of his journal. He’s lanky and long, as far as stick men go. Eric stares at it and feels his cheeks heat up.</p><p>He quickly scribbles over it, a messy, unplanned scrawl, and flips to the next page.</p><p>*</p><p>The first time Eric knew he was different, they were at a basement party in Ken Caryl, and a bunch of stoners were smoking and watching a bootleg tape of Woodstock ‘94.</p><p>He and Dylan were still pretty new friends. That night, Dylan was introducing Eric to his extended network for the first time: childhood buddies, and the incestuous web of kids that had grown up in this neighborhood through elementary school.</p><p>Trent Reznor was on the gigantic, buzzy CRT TV shoved in the corner.</p><p>Eric didn’t know who he was looking at. He only listened to Broken for the first time a week later, after Dylan lent him his copy with its well-worn liner notes and creased, white lined spine.</p><p>But that night, in that basement, Eric saw the face of god in that TV screen.</p><p>When Trent panted <i>I am so dirty on the inside</i>, Eric felt that.</p><p>He really, really felt that.</p><p>Eric’s jerk off fantasies had been ambiguous for as long as he could remember. He touched his dick a lot, and he liked it - he got satisfaction from coming, and the moment of relief right before he lost control. But as far as activities went, jacking off was right there in-between brushing his teeth and taking his antidepressant. He was practically militaristic about it. In bed, blanket up to his shoulders, one hand on his balls, and the other around his dick. He’d stare at the wall, or into the dark, or at the TV playing late night infomercials.</p><p>And then he meets Dylan, and sees Trent Reznor’s body covered in wet, dirty mud.</p><p>Jerking off is no longer routine after that. It hits Eric out of nowhere, multiple times a day, the synapses in his brain turning up, firing off. He sees the line of Dylan’s bony back through the thin material of his t-shirt, and it’s all he can think about. When he finds a chopped up, German subtitled live copy of <i>Closer</i> on Napster, he downloads the video and hides it in a folder on his desktop.</p><p>He goes from normal to insatiable in the matter of a few weeks, and it’s a freefall. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. And Dylan is at the center of it the whole time.</p><p>*</p><p>So Eric is the one with the crush, and sometimes it feels like they both know it.</p><p>Working at Blackjack sucks most of the time. Eric never misses a shift, even in the dead of summer when most of the other guys call in sick because they’re hungover. The best shifts to work are the ones where Dylan is there, too, because he’s Eric’s link to the rest of the group. Without Dylan there to include him, the other guys usually end up talking amongst themselves.</p><p>Eric is in the dish pit scrubbing away when he hears Dylan and another one of their co-workers talking outside in the parking lot through the open window.</p><p>“You guys are always together,” Chris says loud enough for Eric to hear it. “I want to hang out with <i>you</i>, man. Eric’s fucking weird.”</p><p>It doesn’t surprise Eric. He barely feels anything when Chris says that. People always call him weird, and quiet, and awkward, and Eric thinks that’s a little ironic, because none of these people know him at all.</p><p>“He’s not weird.” Dylan doesn’t argue about it, but he says it with finality. Eric hears the huge, loud CLANG when the dumpster lid falls down. “You can hang out with me whenever you want.”</p><p>The smell of cigarette smoke drifts through the open window a minute later.</p><p>“No offense but everyone thinks you guys are homos together,” Chris says.</p><p>Eric has a kneejerk reaction to that. His stomach clenches, angry and threatened. </p><p>“I’m not a fag. Fuck, Chris, you’re so retarded sometimes,” Dylan tells him. Eric stares down into the dish water, listening. “Look, Eric is my friend. I think he’s funny and smart. So you can either hang out with me, or not. I don’t really give a shit. Are you eating that?”</p><p>There’s a long pause, and then Chris says, quieter, “No, man. It’s all yours.”</p><p>Eric goes back to doing the dishes. He finishes what’s in the sink and comes back out of the pit wiping his soggy hands on a damp towel.</p><p>“Hey,” Dylan greets as he comes back through the parking lot exit door. Eric snaps the towel at him, not thinking, and Dylan catches it effortlessly. “Wanna see a movie after work?”</p><p>Eric has been kind of wanting to see Spawn. </p><p>“Sure,” he says, as Chris comes back through the door after Dylan and continues right on to the kitchen.</p><p>Eric eyes him, and then looks back at Dylan.</p><p>Dylan smiles.</p><p>*</p><p>Eric is waiting in his car, smoking a cigarette and listening to a shitty Marcy Playground song on the radio.</p><p>“Hey, sorry,” Dylan greets, popping up in the open passenger window and startling the shit out of Eric. “I didn’t think that would take so long.”</p><p>He opens the door and drops in, entire body unfolding until he’s back in Eric’s space.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Eric says, and honestly he was getting a little pissed off as the “just one minute” turned into 2, and then 5, and 10 - but Dylan’s short, genuine “sorry” snuffed the flame of his rage out quickly, efficiently. “What were you doing?”</p><p>Dylan jostles his oversized backpack between the front seats into the back, and holds a rolled joint up over the console.</p><p>“Got something for the movie.” He grins and quickly tucks it away between his hat and his hair on the side of his head. “Chris was holding for a friend.”</p><p>Eric gives him a sly look, narrow eyes and a smirk, and shifts the car into reverse.</p><p>*</p><p>“There’s a park right there,” Dylan says, as Eric digs around in the back seat for the sweatshirt he threw in there the other day.</p><p>Eric locks the car up and follows Dylan across the mostly empty theatre parking lot.</p><p>In the park, they climb to the top of the jungle gym. They don’t smoke weed very often, and when they do, it’s usually at a party with one of Dylan’s stoner buddies doing all the work. Eric watches Dylan light the joint carefully.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says, taking it when Dylan is done. Their fingers bump together around the tiny, twisted base of the joint. Eric tries to hold it delicately, and then hates himself for the way his wrist looks when it bends. He takes a good, deep drag, and then goes cross-eyed as he confusedly looks down at his own mouth. It feels like he’s sucking at nothing.</p><p>It’s a surprise when he chokes, coughs, and a cloud of smoke comes out of him. Dylan laughs.</p><p>“Ugh. Here you go,” he says, handing it back.</p><p>Dylan is a little more experienced with smoking weed than Eric is. Dylan smoked for the first time in middle school, before they ever met, and Eric was always too afraid to until last year. He was paranoid his parents would find out, but he did it, and they didn’t, and they haven’t found out about anything else Eric is hiding, either.</p><p>“I’ll save the rest for later,” Dylan says when it’s half gone. He carefully knocks the still red part off on the metal bar they’re sitting on, and then licks his fingers and uses them to twist it a little closed. All Eric sees in the dark are Dylan’s fingers, and his tongue, and the way his forearm muscles flex when he moves. </p><p>The climb down is harder than Eric remembers, and he ends up laughing and almost falling into the wood chips when Dylan jumps and doesn’t stick the landing.</p><p>“Ow, fuck,” Dylan laughs, brushing the wood chips off his ass and his knees.</p><p>Eric cackles as he lands with both feet. The crunch under his boots is satisfying.</p><p>“You earned that,” Eric tells him with a sneaky grin.</p><p>He follows Dylan back through the park, across the two-lane street, and into the empty parking lot at the Regal. The entrance is off the furthest end of a strip mall, and even though the theatre is open, it looks deserted. There are only a handful of cars other than Eric’s in the parking lot at all.</p><p>They get their tickets and some snacks. Eric recognizes the chick behind the counter from his German class.</p><p>Spawn is terrible and Eric enjoys every minute of it.</p><p>*</p><p>In July, Eric and Dylan pool their money to get a bundle of fireworks from a guy their boss knows.</p><p>Lighting off snappers is fun for one night. They snag a roll of duct tape from Eric’s garage and stick a bunch together just to watch them all blow up in the middle of the elementary school playground. It takes 45 minutes of that before someone calls the cops; they laugh hysterically as they run through the bushes on the east side of the building, and pop out one street over.</p><p>Dylan’s brother got a new fake ID, so they roll by the lame party his brother is at to pick up the bottle of Jack Daniels Dylan ordered. Eric waits in the car. Then they head back to his house.</p><p>His parents are in Denver for the weekend, visiting friends. Eric lets Dylan in through the side door because he can hear his brother and his girlfriend watching a shitty movie in the living room. Before they go down to the basement, they snag some food from the kitchen - his mom left $40 on the counter for pizza, too. Eric takes that and sticks it in his back pocket.</p><p>“Reparations,” he says, when Dylan gives him a curious look.</p><p>Dylan laughs and follows Eric down the stairs.</p><p>*</p><p>In the basement, things are different.</p><p>Eric’s parents never really come down here. There’s a crawl space under the stairs where his dad keeps the outdoor Christmas lights, and behind those boxes sits Eric’s mom’s canning supplies, which she hasn’t used since they moved to Littleton.</p><p>Between that, and the fact that Kevin mostly sticks to his attic bedroom when his girlfriend is around, which is always, Eric has the space and privacy to do whatever he needs to do.</p><p>“Fright Night is on,” Dylan says, kicking back in the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and the TV Guide open in one hand. “Or, ooh. Basket Case.”</p><p>Eric slaps the TV on and picks up the remote from where he left it on the cable box this morning. He looks over at Dylan, engrossed in the TV Guide, and asks, “What channel?”</p><p>“33,” Dylan replies.</p><p>It takes a few minutes to get settled. Dylan lines up two shots, which are probably at least doubles because they could only find coffee mugs instead of shot glasses, and positions the lukewarm bottle of Minute Maid lemonade between them. Eric reviews their spread with a succinct, “Nice,” and unceremoniously drops the bag of Doritos he snagged from the kitchen beside all that.</p><p>“Do you have cards?” Dylan asks, straightening up and sitting on the edge of the couch.</p><p>Eric nods and gets up to retrieve a pack of cards from the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He reaches up to get his favorite pack - it’s dogs in hats themed - and because it’s on one of the higher shelves, he has to go on his tippy toes.</p><p>When he turns around he catches Dylan staring at him.</p><p>Dylan clears his throat and looks away.</p><p>“Don’t ruin these,” Eric requests, because last time they played drinking games, half of the cards ended up on fire. And it was fun but if they’re going to break shit, Eric has other stuff they can use. “My grandma got me these ones.”</p><p>Dylan snorts when Eric hands them over. “Cute.”</p><p>“I’m red,” Eric announces, even though he’s always red. “You’re black.”</p><p>Instead of replying, Dylan snaps the first card onto the couch cushion between them.</p><p>Ten of hearts. Red.</p><p>“Drink,” he grins, happily watching as Eric reaches for the shot.</p><p>Eric throws it back, and it fills his whole mouth. It’s easily two shots.</p><p>“Ugh, fuck.” He immediately reaches for the mix. “You go.”</p><p>Dylan takes the next card off the top of the deck and laughs.</p><p>“Go, Reb,” he says, pointedly using one of the codenames they recently came up with during their late night missions.</p><p>Eric looks at the card. Eight, diamonds.</p><p>“FUCK,” he snaps, making Dylan laugh some more.</p><p>*</p><p>“Stop doing that!” Dylan is laughing, even though he’s agitated.</p><p>Eric grins at him over the pile of cards and makes eye contact as he tries to cheat and sneak his last red card back under a black one. Even though he’s expecting it, he jumps, surprised, when Dylan’s hand snaps out to stop him.</p><p>He laughs, eyes briefly closing in surprise from the fast movement of Dylan’s hand entering his peripheral. Dylan wraps his whole hand around Eric’s wrist.</p><p>“What are you gonna do about it?” Eric taunts. He still has his red card in-between his fingers, right wrist gripped by Dylan’s left hand. Dylan smirks.</p><p>Then he makes hard eye contact and asks, “What am I gonna do about it?”</p><p>“That’s what I asked,” Eric shoots back drunkenly. He doesn’t even try to twist out of Dylan’s grip; instead, he doubles down, and straightens his fingers, emphasizing the card in-between them. He leans into it and adds, “I can repeat myself if you-”</p><p>He doesn’t get to finish what he was going to say. He cuts himself off, actually, breath clicking as Dylan twists his wrist, hard, and uses the forward momentum of his own body to move Eric’s. Eric twists into the couch, sliding down until he’s on one elbow and Dylan is above him. </p><p>The cards fall everywhere. Eric lets go of the one he was holding. Dylan braces one knee on the couch so he’s over Eric, hand still around his wrist.</p><p>Every cell in Eric’s body lights up. He stares up at Dylan blankly because he doesn’t know what to say. Dylan’s cheeks are red like he gets when he’s embarrassed, but he’s still staring down at Eric.</p><p>“Do it,” Eric finally says. His voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible.</p><p>Dylan stares at him, gaze bouncing between Eric’s eyes.</p><p>He thinks about it for too long. Eric feels the moment the tension fizzles to nothing; it turns to a dud, just like the first bottle rocket they tried earlier today. Dylan lets go of Eric’s wrist and flattens his hand against Eric’s chest instead, using it as leverage to push himself up and away.</p><p>Eric stays in the position Dylan put him in on the couch for a minute, watching as Dylan twists back into a sitting position and hangs his head for a second, running both hands through his hair.</p><p>“Sorry,” Dylan says, not looking at Eric as he does so.</p><p>It’s the first apology Dylan’s ever made that pisses Eric the fuck off. He doesn’t believe it for a second, either.</p><p>Eric shoves himself up so he’s sitting again, body still flooded with adrenaline.</p><p>“It’s fine.” Eric doesn’t know who started it, if Dylan really wanted to or if something that Eric was doing made him. The curiosity is edged out by guilt. He starts making himself another shot as Dylan sits there, motionless, hands still in his hair. </p><p>Eric stares at what he’s doing with the bottle and nothing else.</p><p>That’s all he says about it, and Dylan leaves soon after.</p><p>And that’s July.</p><p>*</p><p>Going back to school fucking sucks, but Eric expected no different.</p><p>Dylan starts inviting this guy named Zach along on their missions, which also pisses Eric off. He’s not as good at building the fuses as Dylan is, and he can’t run as fast as Eric does, which leaves Zach hiding in the bushes like a fag while Eric and Dylan do all the work. Which Eric prefers, he just hates having Zach there at all.</p><p>Then one of the girls in his psych class asks him to hang out after school.</p><p>Eric politely declines.</p><p>*</p><p>“Yo,” Dylan calls, surprising Eric in the smoker’s pit.</p><p>Usually Dylan is up in the rafters on Tuesday afternoons. Eric’s mouth twists up into a smile as Dylan approaches, black sunglasses squarely on his face.</p><p>“What’s up?” Eric asks. They’re the only two out here, because Eric is skipping and apparently so is Dylan, but he tempers himself anyways, positioning his body strategically so nobody can misinterpret the way they’re standing together.</p><p>As an afterthought, he clears his throat and straightens his arms.</p><p>“I’m skipping,” Dylan says, which Eric already assumed. “You want to get out of here?”</p><p>Eric squeezes one eye closed as he thinks. He only has two classes left in the day, and he’s already handed in the homework for one of them.</p><p>“Yeah.” There’s a note of finality to Eric’s voice. “Lead the way.” </p><p>Dylan kicks through the smoker’s pit, getting gravel everywhere, dusting up the toes of his boots. Eric follows, flicking his butt into the gutter as they take a short cut down the hill, awkwardly scaling the bumpy grass down to the parking lot.</p><p>“I want Subway,” Dylan says over one shoulder. “Fuck the cafeteria.”</p><p>There’s a reason Dylan’s skipping the rest of today. That’s when Eric knows it. He looks at the hostile position of Dylan’s shoulders, tightened up until they’re almost at his ears. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need the details.</p><p>That night they leave a pipe bomb in the mailbox of an address at Dylan’s request.</p><p>Eric doesn’t ask questions. He dramatically presses a kiss to the side of the duct taped pipe bomb before he tucks it into the mailbox. He knows Dylan sees it, because he hears his laughter cut through the otherwise quiet night.</p><p>Then Eric lights the bomb and runs like hell towards the woods.</p><p>*</p><p>Two nights later, Eric is writing a history paper when his AIM pings.</p><p>It’s Dylan.</p><p>RC_VoDKa: hey</p><p>REB DoMiNe: oh hi whats up. i was just about to send this to u</p><p>REB DoMiNe: http://members.aol.com/rebdoomer/wad/killer.zip</p><p>REB DoMiNe: finished it last nite</p><p>REB DoMiNe: u get first dl</p><p>RC_VoDKa: oh cool</p><p>RC_VoDKa: thanks</p><p>REB DoMiNe: what you doin?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: im editing a video for thurs</p><p>RC_VoDKa: and drinking hehe</p><p>REB DoMiNe: what! dk!</p><p>RC_VoDKa: =P</p><p>REB DoMiNe: you should have said</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i would have come over.</p><p>RC_VoDKa: its ok</p><p>RC_VoDKa: its pretty boring</p><p>RC_VoDKa: just staring at mikes ugly face all day lol</p><p>REB DoMiNe: yah he is a wierd looking mfer</p><p>RC_VoDKa: its ok</p><p>REB DoMiNe: ?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: its the footage u guys shot last fri</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i dont mind watching your stuff</p><p>REB DoMiNe: hehheh</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i am pretty entertaining</p><p>RC_VoDKa: yah</p><p>RC_VoDKa: you make me laugh alot</p><p>REB DoMiNe: this is why i say!</p><p>REB DoMiNe: we’re way better then the rest of them dk.</p><p>REB DoMiNe: me and you</p><p>RC_VoDKa: yah</p><p>RC_VoDKa: littleton suxcks without you</p><p>REB DoMiNe: likewise</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i wish</p><p>RC_VoDKa: like</p><p>RC_VoDKa: idk</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i wish things could be different</p><p>REB DoMiNe: in what way?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: nobody gets it</p><p>REB DoMiNe: rrrrrrrrrr</p><p>RC_VoDKa: they only care about staying exactly the same</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i dont want that</p><p>REB DoMiNe: mhm.</p><p>REB DoMiNe: what do you want?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: this is embareasing</p><p>REB DoMiNe: tell me dk</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i just want someone</p><p>RC_VoDKa: who gets it</p><p>RC_VoDKa: like</p><p>RC_VoDKa: me</p><p>REB DoMiNe: mhm.</p><p>RC_VoDKa: and is smart like me. and funny in the same way</p><p>RC_VoDKa: and hot =P</p><p>REB DoMiNe: ha ha </p><p>REB DoMiNe: im sure chris or nate could hook u up with a chick if u asked</p><p>RC_VoDKa: ya</p><p>RC_VoDKa: i guess</p><p>REB DoMiNe: yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa</p><p>REB DoMiNe: what?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: nothing</p><p>RC_VoDKa: im drunk.</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i don’t mind</p><p>REB DoMiNe: dk</p><p>REB DoMiNe: are you still there?</p><p>REB DoMiNe: dk?</p><p>REB DoMiNe: hello?</p><p>*</p><p>That night, Eric prints off their chat log using his dad’s computer.</p><p>He folds the paper twice, like a letter, and sticks it in the back of his journal.</p><p>*</p><p>“Come ON, Kibbz,” Eric bellows, fed up. “You fat fuck!”</p><p>Zach is trying to run across the field but he’s slowing them both down. Eric doesn’t even know why he’s waiting - Dylan is already at the edge of the soccer field.</p><p>Jesus, Eric thinks, standing there in the dark. Tick tock.</p><p>When Zach is a few feet away, Eric turns and continues jogging towards where Dylan is. In the distance, a cop car turns its siren on. Eric laughs and does a little jump as he launches himself up onto the ledge Dylan is standing on.</p><p>Halloween sucks, but staying out all night and lighting off bottle rockets doesn’t.</p><p>Eric slides the Jason Voorhees mask from the top of his head, and back down over his face. He and Dylan found them while they were at Walmart buying supplies, so they got matching ones. As he balances himself on the ledge, he feels Dylan’s hand on his back for a split second. By the time Eric can react, it’s already gone.</p><p>A minute later Zach reaches the ledge and they run into the woods, away from the cops.</p><p>“Book it!” Dylan yells.</p><p>Eric is out of breath and full of adrenaline as he bounces over tree roots and the nature junk of the forest floor. Dylan’s up ahead of him, because even though Eric is technically the faster runner, he’s got nothing on Dylan’s legs.</p><p>He laughs as he drops down over a short rock wall. A couple feet away, Dylan is crouched on the ground, preparing another bottle rocket for take-off.</p><p>“Let’s go to the lake!” Eric shouts, staying out of range. </p><p>Dylan gives him their signal for ‘OK’ but doesn’t look up from where he’s lighting the fuse. </p><p>Eric waits for Dylan as Zach runs ahead, getting a head start. He watches Dylan’s posture, the dark hunch of his shoulders and the way the mask holds the hair back off his face. The cop sirens fade in the distance as Eric stares. The cops are fucking lame. He and Dylan could take them on any day.</p><p>When the fuse lights, little sparks start shooting. Dylan pulls his hand back and quickly looks for Eric, and then starts running in his direction.</p><p>“Go, go, go,” he laughs, boots crunching on the twigs and underbrush.</p><p>They’ve never lit a fuse this close before. It’s exciting. Eric turns, laughing, and starts to move as Dylan reaches him. Dylan smacks his hands all over Eric excitedly, heating up his shoulders and back.</p><p>The bottle rocket starts to go off when they’re still within range. Eric laughs and covers the nape of his neck as the sparks begin to fly. Dylan is right there, Eric can hear him breathing and feel the movement of his body as they keep pace with each other.</p><p>“Reb, look,” Dylan says.</p><p>Eric, out of breath, turns around and keeps moving backwards. </p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>The clearing where Dylan set the bottle rocket off is beautiful. It looks like a dream; futuristic nuclear fallout. It’s still too warm to snow, but the forest floor is crunchy with late night frost, and when the cold ground reacts with the hot firework, it turns into steam.</p><p>“That’s gotta be 15 feet high,” Dylan adds. </p><p>Eric agrees. “Well, we taped enough of them together.”</p><p>It goes so high that the sparks arch and fall over Eric and Dylan’s heads, 30 feet away.</p><p>“Guys, what the fuck!” Zach yells from somewhere in the bush. “Where are you?!”</p><p>Dylan’s gaze snaps away from the fire to look at Eric instead.</p><p>In an instant, a mutual decision is made.</p><p>“Hurry up!” Eric hisses, shoving at Dylan’s shoulder. They both laugh. “He’ll hear us!”</p><p>Just like that, Dylan turns tail and runs in the opposite direction, away from Zach’s voice in the woods. Eric yells and whoops, running along behind him, stepping in the same foot falls Dylan makes, and ducking under the same low-hanging branches.</p><p>Zach’s voice fades the further away they get.</p><p>“Through here,” Dylan says, squeezing between two trees. He holds a high branch back.</p><p>Eric stumbles through while Dylan’s arm is still outstretched. He likes how it feels to get so close to Dylan’s open body. The trees get thicker the closer they get to the lake, and it slows them down a bit, but it doesn’t stop Eric’s heart from pounding.</p><p>They light their last two rigs off at the water.</p><p>“DK,” Eric whispers, nudging Dylan’s elbow. The last one is starting to fizzle out.</p><p>Dylan looks away from where the sparks are reflecting in the water, and raises his eyebrow curiously at Eric’s hushed tone. Eric tips his head to their left, where he can see the bright strip shine of a flashlight making its way along one of the trails set just inside some trees off the lake.</p><p>It’s could be nothing, but it’s 1AM.</p><p>They both slide their masks back down, and Eric turns, crunching his way along the shore of the lake. If it’s a cop, he doesn’t want to get caught with a bag full of booze and cut up PVC pipes.</p><p>“Hey!” a voice shouts from behind them.</p><p>Eric doesn’t even turn to look. He just books it, not stopping until he hits the 6 foot retaining wall on the far side of the lake.</p><p>When he stops to look back over his shoulder, Dylan is right behind him, crowding him forward. And over Dylan’s shoulder is the flashlight bouncing along in the dark. Eric and Dylan share a look, and then without talking, Dylan bends down to give Eric a leg up onto the retaining wall.</p><p>Eric drops his bag on the ground and kneels down, bracing himself as he grabs Dylan’s hands and helps him walk up the wall.</p><p>“Keep going, go!” Dylan hisses, snagging Eric’s bag off the ground as they start running again.</p><p>This time they don’t stop. They run until they’re so out of breath they have to duck behind a tree for cover. There’s no way that person with the flashlight followed them all the way in here.</p><p>Eric’s chest is heaving as he flops himself back against the tree, truly winded and thumping with adrenaline. They both push their masks off. Eric rolls his eyes to look up at Dylan’s face as he leans back, the rounds of his shoulders bracing him against the tree. He can barely catch his breath.</p><p>Dylan takes a step closer, and drops Eric’s bag at their feet. Eric doesn’t realize how close they are until Dylan’s hands are all over him. Dylan is the one who leans in and presses their mouths together.</p><p>It isn’t a good kiss, but it’s the best thing that ever happened.</p><p>Neither of them speak. They just stand there, in the dark, and everything is quiet, except for them. Dylan holds Eric’s jaw in his hands.</p><p>*</p><p>Zach stops doing rebel missions with them after that.</p><p>He tells Dylan it’s because he doesn’t want to get tangled up in the next mission plan, which is set to start next week. Eric got into one of the office accounts during computer block and found a masterlist of locker combos; they’ve been sitting on it since before Columbus Day.</p><p>Eric knows Zach is already writing college applications, but he didn’t realize he was this much of a pussy.</p><p>It doesn’t really matter, anyway. Eric prefers it when it’s just Reb and DK.</p><p>*</p><p>REB DoMiNe: evening</p><p>RC_VoDKa: what’s up</p><p>REB DoMiNe: some good news</p><p>RC_VoDKa: ?</p><p>REB DoMiNe: my parents just told me they r going to denver for thanksgiving</p><p>REB DoMiNe: and i can stay here</p><p>RC_VoDKa: hmm</p><p>REB DoMiNe: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm</p><p>RC_VoDKa: =P</p><p>*</p><p>“My mom is pissed,” Dylan laughs, throwing his bag in the back seat.</p><p>At the wheel, Eric forces a cheesy smile and waves at Dylan’s mom standing up on the front stoop. She does look pretty mad, even from here. He laughs when she slips back into the house and closes the door without acknowledging him.</p><p>“Whatever.” Eric doesn’t really care. He watches as Dylan drops into the passenger seat, knees up to the dashboard. “Guess you’re not her little baby anymore.”</p><p>Dylan laughs as Eric peels away from the curb.</p><p>“She’ll be fine. My brother is coming back tonight,” he explains, twisting the window down so he can smoke. “Sucks to be him. When did your parents leave?”</p><p>The car rolls to a stop at the light that marks the edge of Dylan’s neighborhood.</p><p>“Before I got up.” Eric shrugs. “They left money and stuff for turkey sandwiches.”</p><p>Truthfully, Eric has been a little on edge all day. It took a long time to get to sleep last night because he kept fantasizing about having sex. He jerked off twice, and he would have gone for a third round, but his dick hurt too much.</p><p>“Nice,” Dylan nods, appreciative. “Let’s get some videos.”</p><p>Eric gives him a little smile, and glances up as the light turns green. It snowed for the first time last night so the mountains are white and bright, and even though it’s the dead of November, Eric is wearing his sunglasses.</p><p>They stop at Blockbuster on the way home and get a couple of old crappy horror movies for $1 each, as well as a new release copy of Jurassic Park. Dylan holds all three tape cases under his arm and carries the snacks they got, then pays without asking to split.</p><p>“You want anything else?” Dylan asks, with the Blockbuster employee standing right there, and a little thrill shoots through Eric that is equal parts fear and excitement. Just like lighting off a build for the first time.</p><p>Eric shakes his head, then catches the way the employee eyes them and belatedly adds a terse, “Fuck no.”</p><p>There are some guys Eric knows from school lurking in the parking lot when they walk back outside.</p><p>Eric and Dylan beeline to the car and get in before any of them see.</p><p>*</p><p>In Eric’s basement, things are safe.</p><p>They’re alone and that’s how Eric prefers to be.</p><p>“Fuck,” he grunts, sprawled out over the couch.</p><p>Dylan is all over him, on top of him. The couch is just wide enough to fit the two of them, with Dylan’s knees on either side of Eric’s waist. He yanks at Dylan’s hair and pulls him back down into another kiss, filthy because Eric can’t help himself.</p><p>They make out on the couch until Dylan shifts and pants, “Ugh, my dick hurts.”</p><p>“Seriously.” Eric’s voice is flat as he leans back, a little sweaty and out of breath. “Is that your pick-up line?”</p><p>Dylan leans back in, and stares hard into Eric’s face with both hands bracketing his head.</p><p>“I already picked you up,” he says. Eric pushes up onto his elbows and kisses Dylan without using his hands. It’s a little sloppy, and Eric uses his teeth to bite at Dylan’s mouth. When he tips his head back, Dylan curls his entire body over Eric, and holds him by the chin to stare dead into his face. “Fuck, you’re hot.”</p><p>Eric arches his back. “Just like you wanted.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dylan agrees, and then there’s a moment of complete stillness - where the hair on the back of Eric’s forearms stand up, like it used to in Wichita before a tornado ripped through. Then the air sizzles, crackles, and Dylan grinds his hips down. He breathes into Eric’s face, “Just like I wanted.”</p><p>He wraps his arms around Dylan’s shoulders and opens his mouth for a kiss as they go back to humping against each other.</p><p>It doesn’t take very long before Dylan presses his forearms into the couch, bracing his weight off of Eric so he can hold his hips up and rub himself through his pants. Eric lays there, out of breath, flushed, and watches as Dylan stares and jerks off.</p><p>Eric’s shirt is all pushed up under his arm pits, and when he looks down at himself, he realizes there’s a bright red, puffy hickey right over his ribcage.</p><p>He sucks his stomach in and sticks his hand down the front of his pants without undoing them.</p><p>When he comes, he sees the face of god reflected in Dylan’s eyes.</p><p>*</p><p>The week after Thanksgiving, the next round of rebel missions begin.</p><p>And a day after that they get suspended for breaking into lockers at school.</p><p>Eric is pretty fucking mad about it. They get three days each, and on top of that, Dylan’s mom bans him from seeing Eric at all. Eric punches a hole in his bedroom wall and has to hang a poster over it so his dad doesn’t find out.</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i fucking hate everyone!!! rrrr</p><p>REB DoMiNe: nyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa</p><p>RC_VoDKa: you know wat is annoying</p><p>REB DoMiNe: ?</p><p>RC_VoDKa: we didn’t even find anything good =P</p><p>REB DoMiNe: im gonna break everyones legs</p><p>REB DoMiNe: and eat them</p><p>REB DoMiNe: JJJEEEEEEESSSUUUUUUS</p><p>RC_VoDKa: my mom called jason and told him we can’t work together lol</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i swear to god</p><p>REB DoMiNe: everyone exists just to piss me the fuk OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p><p>RC_VoDKa: not me</p><p>REB DoMiNe: no</p><p>REB DoMiNe: not you</p><p>REB DoMiNe: you aren’t like them.</p><p>RC_VoDKa: WE</p><p>REB DoMiNe: mhmm</p><p>REB DoMiNe: rebel clan above everything else</p><p>RC_VoDKa: heheh</p><p>REB DoMiNe: rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr</p><p>REB DoMiNe: neway</p><p>REB DoMiNe: what are you doing tonite</p><p>RC_VoDKa: playing tomb and drinking</p><p>RC_VoDKa: wishing i was there with you</p><p>REB DoMiNe: heh. me too</p><p>REB DoMiNe: i cut up some more pvc</p><p>RC_VoDKa: sweet</p><p>RC_VoDKa: we can put that to use soon</p><p>RC_VoDKa: bc my mom can say whatever she wants</p><p>RC_VoDKa: but she can’t keep me away from you</p><p>REB DoMiNe: dam right</p><p>REB DoMiNe: gawd i wanna see you</p><p>RC_VoDKa: how does that hicky look lol</p><p>REB DoMiNe: u got me good thats for sure</p><p>REB DoMiNe: =P</p><p>RC_VoDKa: ya</p><p>RC_VoDKa: my dick has been hard all day about that</p><p>REB DoMiNe: dam</p><p>REB DoMiNe: now im really sad you arent here</p><p>REB DoMiNe: ?</p><p>REB DoMiNe: dk</p><p>Well, fuck, Eric thinks, tabbing back over to the mission report he was writing before Dylan came online. 15 minutes with no reply means Dylan probably passed out. He checks back a few times, but after another 5 minutes, there’s the telltale sound of a door creaking shut, and when Eric looks at his friend list, Dylan’s screenname is italic and grey.</p><p>“Gay,” Eric whispers to himself, eyes flickering over the screen.</p><p>A full 30 minutes goes by. Eric is in the middle of typing out a description about the night they took a bunch of stuff from a construction site when there’s a noise at his window. He pauses, looking over his shoulder towards the sound.</p><p>There’s another one, exactly the same. Like a little pebble hitting his window. Then there’s a single tap.</p><p>When he gets over to his bedroom window and flips the blinds open, he laughs out loud when he sees Dylan’s drunk face in the frame.</p><p>“Shh,” he says, even though Dylan can’t hear him. He holds a finger up to his mouth and presses it to his lips. Outside the window, Dylan, on his belly on the snowy ground so he can look into Eric’s basement level room, raises his eyebrows back and animatedly says something. Eric emphasizes ‘shhh!’ and says, “One minute,” even though it’s not like Dylan can hear him.</p><p>He slides the window open and moves some of his stuff out of the way so Dylan can drop through. They’ve never really had to sneak around before.</p><p>“Shh,” Dylan says the second Eric slides the window open.</p><p>Eric laughs again and nods, toeing over his tool box so he can stand on it to help navigate Dylan through the window.</p><p>“Yes, shut the fuck up,” he whispers, brushing snow out of the ledge. “My mom and dad are upstairs. Can you fit?”</p><p>Dylan wiggles forward a little bit, and gets his head and one arm through the narrow window. He laughs, out of breath, and tries to finesse himself through. It’s a tight fit. Dylan’s pretty broad up top.</p><p>Eric stands back and doesn’t help as Dylan squirms the rest of the way through.</p><p>Gravity finally takes over and Dylan’s top half takes his bottom half right down to Eric’s bedroom floor. He falls, limbs everywhere, and rolls over onto his back when he lands, laughing. Snow is everywhere, and is now blowing through the wide open window as well.</p><p>Eric looks at him fondly as he starfishes on the carpet, hands on his chest, laughing.</p><p>“Eric?” That’s his dad’s voice at the top of the stairs. “What was that?”</p><p>Eric’s heart drops into his gut and he jumps over the shit on the floor and over to the other side of his room, where the door is.</p><p>“Sorry dad,” he calls, putting on his best apologetic voice. “Just moving some stuff on my desk around.”</p><p>He waits in his doorway, hanging, for his dad’s verdict. There’s a second of silence, and then the overhead basement lights turn off. Eric waits another full minute to make sure his dad has retreated back into the upstairs living room. Then he closes his bedroom door and turns the lock.</p><p>“Ow. That fucking hurt,” Dylan announces, still on the floor. He rolls to the side and pulls Eric’s gym shoe out from under his back.</p><p>Eric kicks the sole of his boot. “No shit. Did you walk here?”</p><p>“Bike.” Dylan reaches his hands out, and Eric helps him up. When he pops to his feet, he lets go of Eric’s hands to brush the melting snow out of his hair. “Fuck.”</p><p>Grinning, Eric reaches up to help too. He brushes nicely at first, but then he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by so much affection he slaps Dylan’s face with his fingers. When Dylan smiles, Eric laughs and steps in close, stretching up to kiss him.</p><p>*</p><p>Love makes Dylan crazy, and Eric sees it.</p><p>*</p><p>The rest of November is uneventful - it’s too cold to do anything outside, and Dylan’s parents are on his ass every second of the day after getting suspended. Eric’s parents aren’t as bad, his dad pushes back at the school and asks them why the locker combinations were available on an unlocked computer. Eric likes that about him.</p><p>Most importantly Eric’s parents still let him go to the KMFDM show in Denver in December. He drives out there with his brother and buys Dylan a bumper sticker to put on his dashboard.</p><p>A couple of days before Christmas, they exchange gifts. Eric gets Dylan a mix CD and a hangy thing to put on his rearview mirror. In return, Dylan gives Eric a t-shirt, and a piece of paper that has a scribbly drawing of two Jason Voorhees masks on one side, and the scratchy words <i>when I look up at the stars I know you’ll be looking up at the same ones</i> on the other. </p><p>In small, short capital letters, at the very bottom of the page, it says <i>FATE.</i></p><p>*</p><p>On December 31, 1997, Dylan and Eric spend New Years Eve in Eric’s basement - alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed so far! I def did not expect such a warm welcome lol</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>